The Bloodied Blade
by equinexus
Summary: With a high bounty placed on his head, the assassin Gervais must escape from the wrath of the Empress Celine I after defying her orders to execute his own family.


The darkness of night consumed the sky, darkening the landscapes of the wilds. Shining like a watchful eye, the moon's beam was the only light in the forest, creating shadows through the trees' branches. A brisk wind had picked up, making the bitter cold night even more chilly with each gust. As the wind whipped the leaves and branches about in their eerie dances, an elf sat crouched among one of them, squinting his eyes as he hid behind the thick, brown trunk. He breathed heavily, attempting to catch his breath as he waited, staring into the shadows with determined blue eyes.

After a moment, the elf was able to quiet himself, becoming completely still as he surveyed the woods slowly. Every movement of shadows drew his attention, his eyes flickering about as he tried to catch sight of his pursuers. Suddenly, out of the blackness, an arrow came flying directly for him.

With a precise movement, Gervais knocked the arrow off course with his blade, ducking behind the trunk completely when another arrow splintered the tree just beside his head, sending fragments of bark flying in all directions. There was only a second of silence before he heard the crunch of a branch, and he turned to spot a dark figure charging him, their weapon drawn and ready to strike. Using his blade, Gervais blocked the downward attack of the dark figure, ducking and swinging a leg around to trip the attacker. The figure lost their balance, falling from the trunk but landing safely on the grass below.

"He's here!" cried the figure, immediately summoning others from the woods.

Surrounded, Gervais watched as they all crept like lions about him, in the trees and on foot below. Several skilled archers had drawn bows from their quivers, pulling their bowstrings taut as they aimed for the dark-haired elf. Pausing, he waited for them to all fire, running and diving off of the branch to land on his feet in the meadow below. Dodging the arrows in midair, he chucked his dagger at one of the three archers, striking them as he landed upright, already drawing another from the belt at his waist.

"I'm not going to make this easy," hissed the _Orlesian_ elf as he took a defensive stance, pulling his sword from the sheath of his back.

At once, the two remaining archers descended from the trees, relinquishing their bows to draw their own blades, joining the two other rogues already on the ground. Taking on four assassins of his order would be the death of him, but in the back of his mind, he saw the smiling face of his sister. He had rescued her and his parents from the Empress's assassination order, and that simple look of appreciation and love he had seen on her face was worth of all his efforts. Now, he would have to pay for his defiance, and to him, the payment was only fair; his life for his family.

Circling him, the four assassins slowly coordinated their positions, trying to figure out the best way to take down one of their own. Gervais knew all of their tricks, and he would make sure he made them earn the bounty on his head.

An assassin tried to backstab him, leaping at him sword-first. Turning, Gervais dodge the blade before shoving his own sword through the assassin's stomach, bringing him down. The second assassin attempted to take advantage of the scuffle, running up on Gervais as he pulled his sword free, only to take the elf's dagger to his face as he cut through the flesh of his cheeks and neck with a swift swipe.

Exhausted, Gervais breathed heavily in his armor, glaring at the two assassins that remained. They continued to circle him, and by their tactics, he knew they were going to strike at the same time. Idly, he wondered if he would be able to survive this maneuver, wondering what to think at the last moment of life.

Before he could decide, the assassins struck at him, leaping at him from both sides with their acrobatic attacks. In a whirlwind, Gervais twirled his blades on each side of him, creating a cyclone of movement. Cutting into the assassins, they groaned as they were gutted, collapsing onto the ground in a fit of guttural noises.

A sharp pain shot through Gervais's midsection and he slowly lowered his eyes to spot the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his armor, the blade fatally deep in his flesh. Looking to his other side, a sword skewered him from belly to back.

Weakly the elf trudged forward a few steps, unable to think a clear thought as his weapons fell free of his hands, sinking in the grass among the bodies of the dead assassins. Gervais was surprised when he felt a heavy blow against his back, another throb of intense pain beginning to form as he turned to see what had caused it.

There was yet another assassin, grinning as he aimed another arrow at Gervais, releasing it with a twinge from the bowstring. The momentum of the arrow pierced through Gervais's armor, entering his chest and knocking him backwards a few steps.

Coughing, blood began to seep from the corners of the elf's mouth, falling to his knees tiredly as he began to succumb to his wounds. He could feel the death of his body, wondering what an odd feeling it was as the last assassin approached him for the killing blow. Even though Gervais's vision was blurred, he spotted the figure raising his bow before him, about to fire one last arrow.

In a final act of defiance, Gervais pulled the dagger free from his side, forcibly throwing it with lightning speed and sinking the sharpened edge into the forehead of the last assassin. He went down without a sound, sprawling dead in the meadow among the others.

Falling onto his side, Gervais hissed as he fought the sporadic surges of pain, watching as black ate at the corners of his eyes, bringing only silence and darkness.

"I'm hungry," whined a redheaded elf as he walked along, trailing behind his four companions. At his side stood a large mabari, trotting happily with a light pant as they moved through the forest.

"You _just_ ate, Iain!" cried the blonde Templar, unable to believe her ears. She had just spent two hours feeding her four male companions, quickly growing frustrated with the redhead.

"Yeah, but I am still hungry," said Iain, knitting his fingers into his hair as he walked, bringing an irritated scoff from the woman.

"You're going to get fat, you know," frowned the female Templar, bringing a chuckle from the blonde mage who led the group.

"Loraine's right. Zevran won't love you anymore," said the mage with an evil smirk, the Antivan nearby laughing loudly.

Iain pouted slightly, folding his arms to his chest with a huff. "Oh, shut up, Elias."

The elven mage continued to smirk as they moved, a silence coming over the group as they drifted through the woods. It was early noon, with the sun high above their heads and the birds chirping nature's melodies. Elias couldn't sense any darkspawn, and he was sure his fellow Wardens, Alistair and Iain, would have said something if they had.

Glancing over the pauldron of his Sentinel armor, his love interest, the Templar Loraine, walked side-by-side with her childhood friend, Alistair. Zevran, the Antivan assassin he had spared, was some distance behind them, keeping close to his charge and the youngest of them all, Iain. Iain's mabari, Dailen, pranced at the elf's feet, occasionally sniffing the grass and leaving his scent on the trees.

It was a moment before the Commander looked forward once more, coming to a quick stop in surprise at the scene. In the midst of a glowing meadow were the corpses of many rogues, all sprawled in different manners of death. In the middle of it all was a black-haired elf, sprawled on his side with a sword and arrows protruding from his armor.

"Would'ya look at that?" commented Iain as they all gathered at Elias's sides, eyeing the scene with interest.

"Poor sods," frowned Alistair, obviously displeased with the behavior of the fallen, knowing they should all be working together in the tough times instead of fighting one another.

After a moment, the redheaded Iain wandered forward to check the corpses for loot, becoming interested with the fallen elf in the center of the bodies. There was an elaborately decorated sword and dagger near the corpse, perfect for dueling, and he knew he had to have them.

His companions watched as the elf looked about, gradually making his way over the black-haired elf. Squatting beside the corpse, he picked up a loose arrow, beginning to poke at the body idly, nudging it slightly. In movements quicker than he could comprehend, the corpse suddenly grabbed hold of the nearby dagger, launching to his feet and grabbing the redhead by the neck and arm. Pressing the blade dangerously against the skin of Iain's neck, the black-haired elf glared at Elias and his party over the redhead's shoulder.

"_Reculez! Je vais le tuer_!" screamed the bloodied elf, blood caking his mouth and armor as he rocked tiredly, still clutching Iain by the arm with the weapon to his neck. "_Je ne vais pas sans se battre_!"

"Iain!" exclaimed Zevran, his face filled with worry for his lover's safety.

"Well, he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?" commented Alistair.

Being the leader he was, Elias remained calm, raising his hands to the crazed elf slowly. The _Orlesian_ was clearly feverish and frightened. "We're not here to harm you," he said in his most soothing tone, drawing the attention of the severely wounded _Orlesian_.

"_Comment puis-je savoir? Reculez, ou je vais l'égorger_!" shouted the bloodied elf, gradually taking steps away from the group, still holding Iain hostage. His bright, blue eyes were wide, his hair disheveled and plastered to his forehead with sweat.

"_Vous pauvre âme! Vous avez peur_... " murmured the Templar, knowing _Orlesian_ fluently. "We are friends, here to help you." Her tone seemed to surprise the wounded elf, and he looked to her, his eyes calming slightly.

"_Qui êtes-vous? Que voulez-vous_?" he asked, still holding Iain closely to his weak body.

"He wants to know who we are, why we are here," translated Loraine, the Templar glancing over at the mage.

"My name is Elias Surana. I am Commander of the Grey, leader of the Grey Wardens in _Ferelden_. We are seeking out a den of darkspawn known to be somewhere near here, when we stumbled on you. You are in no danger," said the blonde mage, keeping any panic for his redheaded friend hidden from his voice. "Please, if you could calm yourself and release Iain."

"How do I know you're not with them? How do I know you won't stab me in the ba-," uttered the black-haired _Orlesian_, growing extremely weary as he remained suspicious. Staggering, he was overcome by his wounds, suddenly slumping forward against Iain. The dagger fell from his hand and the redhead turned to catch the Orlesian cautiously, carefully lowering him into the grass.

Running forward, the party approached them quickly, making their way through the corpses to get closer to the fallen black-haired elf. Zevran gathered Iain up in his arms, sighing in relief and holding the ginger elf tightly to his chest. Loraine stood near Alistair, gazing down at Elias, whom was kneeling before weakened _Orlesian_.

"I am a mage," whispered Elias to the drifting _Orlesian_ as he unbelted his gauntlet, tugging it from his hand. "I will do my best to heal your wounds, but you must trust me."

The Orlesian's eyes fought to stay open, finally giving in to them as he lay helpless. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with accent.

"Stay with me," ordered the mage, patting the _Orlesian_'s cheek to keep him awake long enough to heal his more severe wounds. "Tell me, friend," Elias said as he unbound the elf's armor, seeking out his puncture wounds. "What is your name?"

The dark-haired elf fought to keep his eyes on Elias, rolling about involuntarily as unconsciousness crept over him once again. "My… name? Is Gervais," uttered the _Orlesian_, his alluring eyes sliding shut.

"Gervais, stay with us," said the mage, but to the _Orlesian_, his voice fell upon deaf ears at the darkness once again consumed him, falling into a peaceful rest as he felt the pain of his wounds finally ease.


End file.
